


one last visit

by BlackJacketsandPens



Series: emily kaldwin and the ghost of the tower [4]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, if there's any more they'll be post dh2, last one for now tbh, sad emily and introspective outsider ftw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:09:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9240899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackJacketsandPens/pseuds/BlackJacketsandPens
Summary: As all things are wont to do, t's time for them to go terribly wrong. Emily is alone again, and yet another group wants to use her as a puppet. But at least she has her ghost on this last night in the tower at the Hound Pits.Emily is a special girl, to be noticed by the ghost, even if she doesn't realize. And some stories need to be told eventually, especially ones that have remained unknown for so long. Even if she won't remember.





	

Everything had gone wrong again so fast -- just like the last time, only maybe this was worse. Emily hadn’t been able to do anything, _again_ , hadn’t even known what was happening. Corvo had made Burrows go away -- they’d all heard him play the confession over the loudspeakers -- and then he’d come home. They’d all had drinks; Callista had given Emily a pear soda so she could toast Crovo, too, and then they all toasted her. After that, she’d gone back to draw at her usual booth while everyone talked.

She hadn’t even noticed a thing, nothing wrong at all. Corvo had said he was tired, finally, and left the bar -- he was always so pale and tired, lately, so she hadn’t even noticed something especially wrong until the Admiral had made her and Callista go back to the tower and locked them in. Callista was scared, but Emily had run to the window. 

She couldn’t see Corvo at all, even when she screamed for him, and then-- and then they’d dragged Miss Lydia and Mister Wallace out of the bar and _shot them_. She’d heard the bangs, and Callista screamed and pulled her away from the window even as Emily watched them drag the bodies away.

But even then, they still didn’t know what was going on, not until later. The Admiral came and said that Corvo was dead, and she was going to be Empress but she’d do and say whatever the Admiral and them wanted her to. They’d leave tomorrow like they’d planned, and Emily had to be a good girl and be quiet.

Emily didn’t cry. She refused to -- Corvo wasn’t dead; there was no way. She wouldn’t believe it. He was Corvo. He was-- her was her best friend, her protector. He was the only person left she could trust, and twice over because the Loyalists had betrayed her too. Without him, she was alone, and-- and-- _he wasn’t dead_. She kept telling Callista that, over and over, even as Callista cried. He’d come for them, he’d come back. 

Mr. Martin came to bring them some dinner, probably because they’d killed Miss Lydia and Mr. Wallace. Callista didn’t want to eat, but Emily talked her into it -- it was only leftover stew from lunch and some bread, but it was still food. (In return, Callista talked her out of throwing their chamber pot onto Mr. Martin’s head as he walked under the tower’s window on his way back to the pub.)

Callista fell asleep eventually -- and Emily pretended she didn’t hear her crying -- but sleep didn’t come at all to the princess. She wrapped herself in her blanket and sat against the wall on her bed, hugging her pillow. It was a funny feeling; she could feel the tears in the back of her eyes, the sick feeling in her stomach that she knew meant she kind of wanted to throw up, and it was hard to breathe normally without feeling like she’d start crying. But...she didn’t? And she wasn’t? It all felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her face into her pillow, and stayed that way until she felt a pair of cold hands tugging her into their lap. She immediately let go of her pillow and spun around, wrapping her arms around her ghost and looking up at him as she clung. He looked almost troubled, somehow, but he smiled at her faintly and ran a hand through her hair. 

“Is Corvo dead?” Emily demanded. “Is-- tell me he’s not dead! He can’t be, he’s not allowed to be!” Her voice cracked and rose. “I’m the Empress, and he’s got to know he’s not allowed to be dead, _ever!_ He has to come back and stay with me, a-and that’s an order!” She bit her lip, shaking her head furiously. “I need him! He’s-- he’s the only person I trust, and he protects me, and what’s going to happen if he’s gone? He’s not allowed to be gone, not when I can’t-- I can’t _do_ anything!”

“Shh,” her ghost said, reassuringly, even as she buried her face in his chest, shoulders shaking despite there being no tears. “He’s alive. I promise you that, Emily. Corvo is alive. And you can be certain that nothing is going to stop him from coming back to you.”

Emily nodded wordlessly, curling closer into her ghost’s lap. “They killed them,” she said mournfully. “Mister Wallace was kind of rude, but he was nice to me, a-and a good cook. And Miss Lydia was...she was nice, too. She told good stories.” She sniffled. “And-- and the Admiral _shot_ them. I heard it. After everything they did to help me and C-Corvo and everyone, he just...”

“Humans are cruel,” her ghost said, and he sounded odd. “Cruel and selfish. They don’t care who they step on while they reach for more power, and when they have it, they forget where they came from. The powerless turn into the very people who hurt them. It’s always the same.”

“ _I’m_ not cruel,” Emily protested weakly, her voice muffled. “And I won’t do that, not ever.”

There was silence for a moment. “I know,” her ghost said finally. “You and Corvo are...special. He hasn’t...he hasn’t done a single thing I expected him to, this entire time. Anyone else in his situation would...I expected a trail of blood in his wake. But he didn’t.” 

“I know,” Emily said in turn, with a little smile. “Corvo’s good. He wouldn’t...he wouldn’t do that. I trust him. He’s a good person, no matter what happens to him. He’s quiet and grumpy sometimes, but he’s good.” She held her head up high. “And if it were me, I wouldn’t, either. Killing everybody might feel nice, but it’s not fair. If they’re dead, they can’t think about what they did wrong and feel bad about it. Mother always said that if you did something wrong, you had to be punished properly, so you would _learn_ what you did was wrong. So everyone who killed Mother and hurt Corvo, they should be _punished_. Not killed. And Corvo knows that too.” She made a face. “Sometimes I wish they were dead, the people who hurt them, but-- but it would only feel nice for a little while, and then it would feel bad. Because you _killed_ someone, a-and even if they were bad, they don’t deserve to be _dead_.”

Her ghost chuckled softly. “And that’s why _you’re_ special,” he said quietly. 

There was silence for a time, Emily resting her head on her ghost’s chest. Knowing for certain that Corvo would come back to her...that had helped ease her worries, ease the horrible sick feeling in her gut. She trusted her ghost to know these things -- he _was_ a ghost, right? So he’d be able to know if other people were dead.

“Let me tell you a story,” her ghost said finally, breaking the silence. His voice still sounded funny, she noticed. Distant, like he was somewhere far away. “It’s not one about King Artorius. It’s...it’s something else.”

Emily blinked at him for a moment and nodded, afraid to speak in case it would make him change his mind about the story. She wondered what he was going to tell her -- what it was that made him so distant and quiet. She wondered if it had anything to do with why he thought people were so bad.

“Once upon a time, a very, very long time ago,” he began slowly, and she could see a furrow in his brow as if it was something he had a hard time remembering. “There was a...a boy. He didn’t know his father, and his mother was--” He broke off, looking away with some puzzlement in his black eyes. “I think she died. I can’t...I can’t remember.” He fell silent and Emily blinked, awed. Was he telling her about... _oh_. She reached out and gave his hand a squeeze, and that seemed to remind him to continue.

“He was poor,” her ghost continues. “And he was...he was different. And alone. I remember that he would...he would walk down the beach and pick up seashells, and catch fish to sell...he’d always find enough, no matter the season. I-I think...I don’t know.” He trails off again and shakes his head. “But the people where he lived, they...didn’t like him. Thought he was the bad sort of different, I suppose. Spit on him and kicked him around, refused to sell him food...he was-- it wasn’t a good life.”

Emily hugged him at that, frowning. That made it made sense, that he thought all people were bad. She supposed if he’d only ever had people be mean to him, of _course_ he would. No wonder having a friend was so strange! She resolved to be even more of a friend to him, whatever that meant. But she wanted to make up for everyone else who had treated him badly. 

He seemed startled at her hug, and managed a faint smile. “The boy, he...one day, strange people came to the place where he lived,” he said quietly. “They were-- they were frightening. They were looking for something, something they wanted very badly, and...and they decided they found it in the boy.”

“Ghost…?” Emily asked, her voice small as she remembered, suddenly, that she was talking to a ghost and not a living boy. “Does this story have a happy ending?”

Her ghost smiled again, but it was endlessly sad, and older than it had any right to be on a face that young. “No,” he said. “It doesn’t. But you’ll be the first living person to hear it, I think.”

“Ohhhh,” Emily said, eyes wide. She hadn’t realized it was _that_ special a story. “I’ll try to remember it forever for you,” she promised.

Her ghost chuckled. “It’s alright if you don’t,” he tells her, amused. “The point isn’t...really for you to remember. It’s just...just that I wanted to tell it. Needed to, perhaps. It’s been left unsaid for far too long, and you...”

“Still…!” Emily insisted. “Even if I forget, you’ll still be my friend. And if I forget your story, I’ll still remember _you_.”

Her ghost blinked, and then sighed, letting his head drop to rest on hers. “Thank you, Emily,” he said. “It means a great deal to me, even if I...find it hard to express that.”

“Of course,” she said. “You’re very welcome.” She hugged him again and he returned the gesture, albeit awkwardly, and then slipped out from under her to get her tucked in.

“You’ll have a long day tomorrow,” he said softly. “You should sleep. And don’t be afraid. Corvo is coming.”

Emily smiled, surprised at how sleepy she was all of a sudden. “M’not afraid,” she murmured. “Not when I know Corvo’s coming. ‘N not when you’re here.” She rolled over to look up at her ghost, already unable to keep her eyes open. “Will I see you again once we leave th’ tower…?” She asked.

“...Of course,” her ghost said quietly, and Emily was too tired to see him look away when he said it. “Now go to sleep, Emily. Everything will be alright.”

And it was. Even if it took several days...it was alright. Corvo did come for her as promised, and they watched the sun rise over the Kingsparrow lighthouse together, hand in hand. They returned to Dunwall Tower, and the very first thing Emily did was to pardon Corvo -- he was innocent, and had always been, of course. He was her protector, and her Protector, and he always would be.

Her ghost, she discovered...had lied to her. She didn’t see him again after that last night, and though she was sad, her lessons and duties distracted her, and after a time, the memories faded. All she retained were the stories of knights, the names of constellations, and talk about sea creatures. Stories and facts and a folded up picture of a whale that was tucked in her desk.

Some of the memories she attributed to Callista or Samuel, but others she couldn’t really place where she knew them from. But that was alright; whoever it was, they were her friend. She knew that much.

It would be fifteen long years before she saw her ghost again, but that time she’d know him by a different name. His true name -- the Outsider. He gave her another gift, a mark in black upon her hand, and gave her the way to save her throne and her father. Gave her something truly special -- the ability to fight for herself, to take back what was hers with her own hands.

It wasn’t until she was safe, until it was all over, that she remembered her ghost and realized what it all had meant. And she was grateful; even if it had taken a long time, he’d still been there. And this time she’d remember him for sure. 

That’s what friends did, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Last one in this part of the series! As I said, any further ones will be set post Dishonored 2 and probably be just as adorable.
> 
> Yeah, I know Emily doesn't remember squat about any of this when she meets him in Karnaca, but man, it's been 15 years _and_ she was 10 and in a very stressful situation. I don't blame her for forgetting. 
> 
> And you can't keep fragments of that kind of a story bottled up forever. When faced with the innocent, no-strings-attached _kindness_ of a little girl like Emily, who doesn't even know what he really is and might not even care, it stands to reason she might be the one person he can trust with that tiny, forgotten part of him. Just because it needs to be said, out loud, at least once. To make it more real.


End file.
